To Take Her Pride

by Anne Brear

  “I don’t think she will for some time yet.”

  His heart dipped at the news.

  Julia turned her shoulder to the girls and stared hard at Winnie and himself. “What is this you are speaking of?”

  Reid watched Winnie, what color she had in her cheeks paled and pity welled in him. His mother could be impossible, but he loved her because she was his mother. However, to others who didn’t have that bond of family, he knew she could be overpowering and indeed at times rude and self-absorbed. This startling revelation alerted him to the fact he’s been blind to her faults all his life, and he wondered what else he didn’t know, or care to admit.

  He leaned back in his chair as Tibbleton approached with a maid following, and they set down two trays of tea things and plates of cakes. Again he watched his mother and Winnie. His mother’s eyes hardened and he became aware of how it robbed the beauty from her. Winnie looked like a rabbit caught in a trap. His compassion for her deepened.

  “You have gone rather pale, Winnie.” Julia gloated. “Has something happened?”

  “Not at all, Julia.” Winnie dismissed the servants and poured the tea.

  His mother cocked her head to one side. “Is everything all right with Josiah?”

  “Absolutely. Why wouldn’t it be? Sugar?”

  “We all know how easily fortunes can rise and fall if one isn’t careful.” Julia’s cold tone stilled them all.

  “Unless you have information I don’t know about, Julia, then I can assure you our fortune is quite secure.”

  “One can never be too careful, Winnie. Josiah hasn’t dealt with money and business as long as the Sinclairs have. It can be a very unstable life.”

  Reid clenched his teeth. His mother was not only being rude but offensive as well. How long had she treated the Pettigrews like this? And why hadn’t he ever been aware of it. He accepted his teacup from Winnie and felt the tension from her and the two girls opposite. He turned to his mother and smiled brightly. “We were talking of Aurora actually, Mother.”

  Julia stiffened. Her mouth became a thin tight line. “Really?”

  “Yes. I was asking after her.” He forced himself to relax and settle the strain of the group, but the flash of disdain in his mother’s eyes wasn’t lost on him. His mind worked overtime. Something was wrong here. The friendship between the two families wasn’t as close as he always thought. The pretence gave him a sick feeling in his gut. How had he missed it? Why did her expression freeze at the mention of Aurora?

  “And how is your eldest daughter, Winnie?”

  “She is excellent, thank you Julia.”

  “We received a letter from her only this morning,” Harriet said, sipping her tea. “She is married.”

  “Harriet!” Winnie snapped.

  Reid sat unmoving. Unable to breathe or think, he gripped his teacup and saucer wondering if he had heard correctly.

  “Married?” Julia laughed delightedly. “How marvelous. Who is the lucky beau? Why were you not invited to the nuptials? Is she still abroad? Dear lord, she hasn’t married a foreigner has she?”

  He glared at his mother’s happiness, but ignoring her he concentrated on Winnie and silently begged her to refute the information. Harriet had misunderstood, that’s all. Only the truth was in Winnie’s eyes, her face, the way her hands shook slightly holding the plate of tiny tarts she’d been about to pass around.

  “We are not yet acquainted with Aurora’s husband. She sent a telegram,” she glanced sharply at her daughters, “and the telegram was very brief.”

  Reid noted Bettina’s blush and Harriet’s puzzled stare at Winnie. The telegram was a lie. Beneath Winnie’s skirts was a letter, Aurora’s letter, not a simple telegram.

  “I am so thrilled for you all, Winnie.” Julia beamed at each one of them. “Aren’t you happy to hear such news, Reid? I look forward to meeting the happy couple. I suppose by next year you’ll be a grandmother, Winnie. How exciting.”

  Reid jerked, spilling the tea he didn’t want. Aurora married. Aurora loving another. Aurora carrying some man’s child. Aurora allowing a man’s touch on her body, to be kissed and caressed by another. Some fellow other than him would lead her to bed, undress her, see her naked, waiting for him…

  He lurched to his feet, nearly dropping the teacup. He couldn’t stand the pain encircling his chest. Without care he placed the teacup and saucer on the tray and spun away. He had to leave before he did or said something irrational, like swear and throw his chair across the lawn, but some part of his brain performed sensibly and he focused on breathing.

  “I apologize, Mrs Pettigrew, but I’ve suddenly remembered a very important appointment I have in Leeds. Do forgive me,” he spoke with a calmness he thought was beyond him. He moved normally, grabbing his mother’s elbow and lifting her from her chair.

  “Come, Mother, I am in a hurry.” He ignored her bewildered look and bowed to the women seated. “Good day, ladies.”

  His grip tightened on his mother’s elbow as he hurried them across the lawns to the drive and the waiting carriage.

  “Reid, please, slow down, you’ll ruin my shoes.”

  Once in the carriage, he closed his eyes against the images of Aurora and her faceless husband in bed. Where his heart lay was a pain so acute he wanted to die from it. He hoped to die, needed to die, for living with the knowledge that the one woman he had always loved was gone from him was too much to bear.

  “Reid—”

  “Don’t speak please, Mother. My head is pounding from a dreadful headache.” He huddled in the corner, staring out of the window as they made the short journey to their own drive.

  “Never mind, my dear, I was more than ready to leave anyway,” she muttered smugly. “Winnie is such a dull friend at times.”

  Her conceitedness made him want to rage at her. He thought he’d be sick all over her expensive gown. More than that, he wanted to cry. No, not just cry, but wail and roar. He banged the roof of the carriage and had opened the door before the driver applied the brakes. “I need some air. I’ll take a walk.” He jumped down from the carriage as it halted and then leapt across the ditch by the side of the road. Within seconds he’d climbed over the stonewall and was running across the harvested fields.

  He fell once, stumbled up and kept running until he made the woods on the estate’s boundary. Collapsing against a tree, he slid to the ground and purged himself of the tears, the anger and the pain inside.

  Chapter Twenty

  Aurora closed the shop door on the battering gale that carried sleet in it, stinging exposed skin. The warmth of the shop was a comfort and she intended to linger amongst the cheery Christmas goods to thaw out her cold hands.

  “Ah, Mrs Sinclair. What brings you out on such a day?” The shopkeeper, Mrs McTavish smiled from the other side of the counter.

  “I must be mad, mustn’t I? Aurora returned her kind smile. “Jed had to come into town and I decided to go with him. We are short of thread and a few other things. It could have waited but I was bored of being in the house.”

  Mrs McTavish wiped down the already clean countertop. “When I was having my bairns, I felt the last few weeks were longer than all the previous months together.” She laughed.

  Aurora rubbed her rounded belly beneath her coat. “At home I’m not allowed to do anything. My family keeps feeding me every time I sit down.”

  “A pregnant woman knows how caged animals feel, I believe. We’re just waiting for the release.”

  “Too true.”

  “You are due at Christmas?” She began weighing out colorful boiled sweets into small brown paper bags, which she tied with red string. The shop was full of treats for the festive season purchases.

  “After the New Year, I think.”

  Mrs McTavish frowned and paused in her weighing. “Lord, lass, you’re not very big then. We’ll be celebrating the new century in just two weeks.”

  Placing her hand over her stomach, she felt the baby kick. Lily had been enorm
ous when she was having Will, but Aurora was rather thankful she wasn’t as large as she expected. She was happy with her bump, but Sophia said she wasn’t big enough for someone close to term and was forever forcing her to eat hearty meals and the egg puddings Lily made.

  “I expect it’s worrying over that good husband of yours, being out over the water in that foreign land.” Mrs McTavish tipped the scales with sweets once more. “It’s not looking too good out there, is it?”

  Aurora’s good humor sank. The newspapers were full of battles, especially the battle of Ladysmith, a town with a lovely name, but which, at the moment, was under siege. She had no idea if Tom was involved and cowardly didn’t want to know. She refused to read the newspapers articles mentioning the war. If he was involved in the siege or any other battle she’d only worry even more, if that were possible. His letters were scarce and the last one she received mentioned only the antics of his fellow men, the heat and dreadful army food and nothing about the war at all.

  Another customer entered the shop and diverted Aurora’s thoughts. Mrs Digby, a small woman and wife of a local lawyer, waved her hand. “Mrs Sinclair. I am pleased to see you. It saves me the journey out to your home.”

  “Good day, Mrs Digby.” She dutifully inclined her head, but wished she hadn’t run into this particular woman. Since their arrival eight weeks ago, she had been inundated with requests to join different ladies societies and received callers almost daily. Their hands of friendship were welcome, but Aurora found the routine of paying back those calls tiring and a little tedious. She had done enough of that at home in Leeds and desperately wished to be left alone here.

  “Mrs Sinclair, we at the Ladies Committee wish to know if you’d like to join us tomorrow night at Mrs Pope’s home? We are making up parcels to send to the brave men, like your husband, in Africa, fighting for the Empire.”

  Before Aurora could answer, the shop door opened again and in walked Bart Blackwell and his thin, quiet wife, Gertrude, whom Aurora had met previously at a long and boring dinner party hosted by them.

  “Mrs Sinclair and Mrs Digby.” Blackwell bowed to them while his wife gave them a wane smile.

  Mrs Digby bustled forward. “Mrs Blackwell, I was just telling Mrs Sinclair about tomorrow night.”

  “I’m afraid I must decline, Mrs Digby.” Aurora broke in, aware of Bart Blackwell walking closely behind her.

  “Oh, but the cause is so close to your own heart. You must want to do your bit for our boys.”

  Aurora strove for patience. “Indeed I do, but my time is getting near and I’ll not be venturing out at night now winter is upon us.”

  “Oh, yes of course.” Mrs Digby patted Aurora’s hand before she turned back to Gertrude Blackwell, took her to the counter and continued talking without letting up to her and Mrs McTavish.

  “Will your husband’s family be attending the birth, Mrs Sinclair?” Blackwell murmured close to her ear.

  Affronted at his closeness, Aurora stepped back annoyed. “No, they will not.”

  “We’ve not seen any of the family since you moved here.” His slimy tone grated on her nerves. He was forever moving too close to her, whispering low, trying to force an intimacy she didn’t care for.

  “Are you spying on my home, sir?”

  He laughed loudly, making the other women stare in his direction. “Indeed, Mrs Sinclair, you are a whit.”

  “Excuse me, I have to go.” She was tired of seeing the man, which happened to be weekly at present. Never more than seven days went by without him driving to the farm and taking tea with her and Sophia. Each Sunday at church he would leave his wife and waylay Aurora as she left after the service. Last Sunday when the first banns had been read for Sophia and Noah’s wedding, he’d been the first to shake their hands and gush how wonderful it was to have a Christmas wedding.

  “Have you heard from your husband recently?” He rocked on his heels, a habit Aurora found extremely irritating. “Does the African climate suit him?”

  “I doubt it, Mr Blackwell, since to enjoy the climate one must enjoy being shot at too.” She didn’t try to hide the sarcasm, knowing that he was too thick-headed to heed it anyway.

  “His family would be proud of him though.”

  She stared at him, his flabby long jowls covered in graying whiskers disgusted her. “I’m sure they are.”

  “You sound as if you aren’t certain,” he probed. “Do you not get along with them?”

  Aurora stiffened, her lip curling in a sneer. “What I do regarding my husband’s family is none of your concern, Mr Blackwell.”

  He held up his hands as if in surrender. “Take no offence, my dear Mrs Sinclair. I let my tongue run away with me. I shouldn’t have spoken my thoughts out loud, but with you not having family visitors for the birth, I assumed—”

  “I believe you’d be better off not assuming anything at all.”

  “Forgive me, please.” He had the grace to flush crimson. “I am dreadfully curious by nature, you see.”

  “I’m sorry, but I really must be going.”

  “I would like us to become great friends, Mrs Sinclair,” he murmured, stepping his large bulk closer to her. “I could be very generous and helpful to those who are true friends.” He glanced at his wife before displaying his crooked teeth in a wide smile. “Your husband is away and I am sure you missing his company. Once your child is born I would find it my utmost pleasure to give you any assistance you might need. I am widely respected hereabouts, and well, your little farm could find itself improved greatly with me as a benefactor, if you know what I mean.”

  She blinked, speechless at what he was offering. She too glanced at the chatting women and assured they were busy talking she turned back to Blackwell and gave him her brightest smile. “Let me try to understand you, sir. You’re saying that for my friendship, a special friendship once my child is born, you would be willing to stock my farm?”

  “Yes,” he whispered excitedly. “You’re a fine woman, Mrs Sinclair. I would be happy to not only stock your farm, but help raise it to a standard as great as my own.”

  She fought a chuckle and instead pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth, her expression thoughtful. “I see, but I have money of my own, Mr Blackwell, I do not need you to stock the farm. I can do it myself.”

  He floundered a little. “But Mrs Sinclair, it’s more than a simple case of buying beasts. It’s knowing the right people, breeders, produce agents, the markets, you know? I have the contacts. Money can easily be wasted if all the stages aren’t done correctly and a farm can go bankrupt within two seasons.”

  “And you think I am incapable of making my farm pay?”

  “You’re a lady, of course it would be difficult, and your soon to be father-in-law hasn’t much knowledge in the area either.”

  “But my husband has.”

  “He is not here.” His innocent expression was at odds with the hunger in his eyes. “And his family doesn’t seem to be interested in your welfare as far as I can see.”

  “And you are?”

  He grasped her hand in both of his large paws. “Oh, my lady, indeed I am, very much. If only I could show you how much.” His eyes flickered to her stomach. “But all in good time, my dear.”

  “Mr Blackwell,” she raised her voice so the ladies at the other side of the shop could hear her. “Mr Blackwell, I would rather eat broken glass than whore myself to you for a few beasts. Good day!” She stomped from the shop and out into the snowy gale, which nearly took her hat off her head.

  “Mrs Sinclair!” Jed pulled the cart in close to her and then jumped down to assist her up onto the seat.

  “Oh, Jed, we need to get home. It was silly of us to venture out in this weather. I’ll not come into town again until after the baby is born.”

  “We’ll be home soon enough, I promise. Wrap that blanket around you, Madam.”

  Aurora did as he bid, but couldn’t help looking back at the shop as the horse pulled away. Blackwell stood at
the window staring with a thunderous face and she shivered more due to him than the cold. She should not have said what she did. Oh why couldn’t she have kept her temper? It was like the Ellerton situation all over again. Why couldn’t they leave her alone!

  Tom finished shaving and, wiping the towel around his jaw and neck, he studied his reflection in the small square mirror hanging on a nail above the sink. Was that a gray hair above his right ear? Surely not at his age. He grinned at his vainness and then listened to the drone of music as the regimental band rehearsed across the street for the Christmas concert tonight. He hoped the bar would be open. Spending two hours listening to other fellows ruin classical pieces wasn’t the most splendid of ways to celebrate the season.

  A fly buzzed about his head. He swiped at it. Cursed things. Flies irritated him. They had no respect for rank. In the corner of the mirror, he spotted his writing desk behind him and the sheets of blank paper sitting on top.

  He threw the towel onto the rail and missed, then went and sat at the desk, reached for his pen and inspected the nib. Finding it in good repair, he pulled a sheet of yellow paper from his stationary stack and began to write.

  December 23rd 1899

  Ladysmith

  Dear Aurrie,

  I should have written “Happy Christmas” to you earlier, in my last letter, and it is silly to do so now as by the time you receive this it’ll be months from now, if at all. The natives will do favors for money and the army does it best to get messages out, but whether this letter gets to you remains to be seen. Nevertheless, I hope it is/was a joyous occasion for you all.

  When I sat down to write this letter I was thinking of some humorous incidents to tell you. But I stopped myself from putting them down on paper. To you of all people I won’t lie to, as I do to the rest of my family. To them I write queer little letters of interesting things happening, but I cannot do that with you. I will not pretend to you that being in the army is all fun and laughter. It is not. Oh, it is the adventure I sought, but it isn’t one of enjoyment and good entertainment. There are times when my fellow officers make me laugh and we can spend an evening in harmony. However, since arriving in this accursed land I’ve seen some things that I thought at the time would make me never laugh again. Only, time goes on and images lose their sharpness, they have to or we’d be all lunatics.